


A Missed Deduction

by albrightbrie



Category: Fandom - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Multi, Sherlock's Son?, Sherlock's only love, Sherlock's tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 13:17:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4626675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/albrightbrie/pseuds/albrightbrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has seemingly always been unattached, with the exception of John of course. However, the reason behind this has much to do with his past. Now, everything is being brought up and is entering his present. Will Sherlock be able to handle this tragedy? And will he be able to open up a little so that he can make a new connection with someone else?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 17 Years Earlier

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you guys like this. It's my first story so I know it won't be the best. I'm totally open to constructive criticism. I know that there is always room for improvement. I'll be posting more of the story if you guys like it. So please, leave comments. Again, thank you for reasing and hope you enjoy!

“You wouldn’t believe the case I just solved. It was the one with the botanist and his girlfriend. Do you remember? She was the magician’s assistant girl. Turns out she killed her boss and made it look like a jealous boyfriend did it. Can you believe it?” Sherlock charged through the door without even checking to see if she was home. He was so energized from the case he just solved that he simply expected her to be there. When she didn’t answer as quickly as he’d hoped, Sherlock quickly glanced at the digital clock in the kitchen. 10:37. She should be home. “LIZZY?” Sherlock yelled across the threshold. His baritone voice echoed through the empty house reaching every inch.  
Sherlock didn’t expect her to be asleep, but he assumed the explanation at once. There was no other reason for her not to answer. If she were going out she would have texted. If she was working late she would have called, simply to convey her sadness as she had to deliver the news to her beloved boyfriend that she was expected to say at the dreary workplace. She must have simply forgotten to ask him to be quiet as he walked in as to not wake her up.  
Immediately upon this conclusion Sherlock changed his gate. He wanted to be as quiet as possible. For Sherlock that was trying at times. He slipped across the wood floors and slowly made his way up the stairs, tiptoed over the creak in the step, and arrived at the closed door of their bedroom. He shot a quick glance underneath the door to support his prediction. Lights off. As he draped his coat and scarf over the banister, he opened the door very slowly with his other hand. The pads of his feet slowly reached the carpet of their bedroom and his green eyes darted towards the bed.  
There was no lump under the covers of the bed. There was none of the usual, light snoring that came from his beautiful girlfriend. There was only silence and emptiness. Sherlock’s back straightened and his eyes flashed a pained look for a split second. Questions swarmed his head where there were usually answers. He slowly approached her side of the bed where a note took the place of her body.  
Manila paper was surely soon to deliver the worst of news. As Sherlock steadily picked up the note he tried to keep his hands from shaking. He could only deduce one thing. She had been taken, kidnapped. That was the only explanation for her absence. No other reasoning could make any sense.  
Sherlock read the paper and his heart broke in two. 

 

My Dear Sherlock,

It pains me to admit this, but I am holding you back. It is as simple and as complicated as that. You are the smartest human being I’ve ever met and you cannot waste your talents on me. I know, with your big heart, it is not hard for you to believe that you are at your full potential with me by your side. However, this is not true. I have noticed it greatly. My beloved Sherlock, I will not hold you back any longer. Please, do not try to seek out my whereabouts. I do not wish to be found. I am safe, and I am doing this only because I love you too much. Trust in that. Don’t shut yourself out because you have had your heart broken. Live your life to its fullest, and I know that is a very full life with your potential. My love, I am truly sorry for putting you through this.  
Sincerely,  
Lizzy 

Sherlock’s knees gave in, his heart gave out, and his world seemed to spiral out of control.


	2. A Conversation Via Text

Present Day

*Conversation by text*

Messages-Sent  
Where’s Sherlock? Not answering his   
phone. –GL

 

Messages-Received  
Experiments. Why? Is it a case?   
-JW

 

Messages-Sent  
Yes. Need help…now! -GL

 

Messages-Received  
He won’t leave the flat. Need details  
If you really want his help down at   
The Yard. -JW

 

Messages-Sent  
Anderson says it’s a suicide. I have   
suspicion it could be a murder. –GL

 

Messages-Received  
Details! Really Garret, you expect me   
to come down there because you   
have suspicions?! 

SH

Messages-Sent  
Greg. –GL

 

Messages-Received   
Excuse me?

SH

 

Messages-Sent  
My name is Greg, not Garret. –GL

 

Messages-Received  
Oh. Still waiting on details.

SH

 

Messages-Sent  
Possible hanging, however there  
are bruises on her neck above the   
rope and bruises on her hands.   
Neighbor called it in when he   
noticed her through the window.   
Didn’t stay for the police to show  
up for some reason. Maybe he did  
it? -GL

 

Messages-Sent  
Oh, and there was skin found under  
her fingernails. Can’t ID DNA though.  
-GL

 

Messages-Received   
On my way.

SH

 

Messages-Sent  
Please hurry! Kid down here who says   
he’s close with the victim. He’s  
attempting to solve the case. Won’t   
shut up. Need you to shut him down.   
-GL

 

Messages-Received  
Have we got ourselves a mini   
Sherlock Holmes? Oh, God help   
us. –JW

 

Messages-Sent  
Hah! Yeah right John. Like  
anyone could compare to the  
Great Sherlock Holmes! –GL

 

Messages-Sent  
Don’t tell him I said that! –GL

 

Messages-Received  
Too late.

SH


	3. The Discovery

“Sherlock, please do wipe that smirk off your face. It’s not decent!” John tried not to walk into the door with a smug look of his own. He couldn’t help but laugh at what was to come. Detective Lestrade had walked himself right into that one.

“Oh, let me have my fun John! It isn’t every day that Garret praises me aloud for my brilliance. Though I can read it on his face every minute he’s in my presence.” Sherlock grinned from ear to ear as he said this. He liked being complimented. Even though he did have John for that, it was nice to hear it from someone else every once in awhile. 

As they walked through the open door of Scotland Yard, the pair took in their surroundings, Sherlock taking in much more than John of course. They both immediately spotted Greg Lestrade draping himself over a high counter, his elbow leaning against it for support, and his head against his wrist. Today his head seemed too large and his body too tired for him to keep it up on his own. His face looked bored and morose. The expression in which drowned his features seemed to make his salt and pepper hair look saltier. Greg was listening to a young man explain something rather frantically, his entire body shook with what seemed like excitement to John, but was deduced to be sorrow by Sherlock. Although it seemed very important to the boy, the inspector couldn’t have been less interested. Only one thing was on his mind, and that thing happened to have just stepped through the door. 

Greg quickly snapped to attention once Sherlock and John were in sight. “Oi! You made it. Finally!” This was said through clenched teeth as he nodded his head towards the boy, indicating that this was the wanna-be-Sherlock Holmes. 

“Oh please do calm down Detective. You wouldn’t want to scare off the…how did you put it? Oh yes, The Great Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock’s wicked grin showed no sign of mercy, but a hint of humor.

Seeing that Lestrade was not in a comical mood, John stifled a laugh while he tried to diffuse the situation. “Boys, boys. Really Greg, he was only joking.” Another suffocated laugh almost reached John’s lips, but he fought the urge. 

Sherlock was quickly ready to move onto a new topic. Not to spare Greg any more humiliation, but simply because he didn’t like to drone on with one subject for too long. “Right then, crime scene?” Sherlock’s sea green eyes scanned the counter top for any clues as to where the murder took place. Lestrade’s coat pocket still had an umbrella inside. Easy. Westminster. It’s been raining there all day. Was she found inside? Yes. The scent on him indicates so, ladies perfume, too much of it too. What scent? Vaguely familiar…no, don’t know it. Does she live alone? More sweeping of the eyes. Agh! He wouldn’t know until he was at the house. He was getting ahead of himself. 

“Ah yes, of course. Westminster. 105 Westminster Dr.”

“105. Right, John? Let’s go.” Sherlock turned on his heels with John ready to follow close behind. 

“Wait, Sherlock!” Lestrade extended a hand in the air as if to signal him from in the middle of a crowd, a gesture Sherlock found to be quite idiotic. With a roll of the sea green eyes Sherlock turned back around and stalked over to the detective. He never liked being kept from the game. 

“Yes?” Sherlock was itching to go to the scene.  
“Will you be taking a cab? Or shall I drive?” This was a stupid question according to Sherlock. 

“You’re wasting your time.” Sherlock’s eyes fluttered down to the owner of the small voice. The boy had been almost completely forgotten. 

“Yes. Who are you?” The consulting detective asked. He was quite curious now. Why was this boy deliberately avoiding all eye contact with Sherlock? To his surprise for once, someone found the floor more interesting than himself. As his eyes probed the curly black haired kid, Sherlock became more perplexed. He could only deduce a small amount of facts from this haystack of a boy.  
1\. He was young, maybe 15, 16.  
2\. He didn’t seem interested in meeting Sherlock’s gaze  
3\. His hair seemed soft, not greasy, though it had been unwashed for 2, no 3 days now.  
4\. And lastly, this young man seemed to know a lot more than The Great Sherlock Holmes. At least, he thought he did. 

“Says he was close with the victim.” By the tone of Lestrade’s voice it was obvious he didn’t think the young lad deserved the time of day. 

“Close? How close?” Sherlock was hooked. Something about the boy seemed…familiar. 

Although the hat detective couldn’t put his finger on it, John had no problem identifying what was making him feel so uneasy. At first glance, John didn’t think twice about him. However, once he looked into the boy’s sea green eyes that looked so unnerving, noticed the curly black hair that seemed to be tossed in every direction, and observed the similar nose that lay on his face like a peak between two stormy oceans it was impossible to not stare back and forth between the detective and his smaller looking clone. 

Sherlock’s question went unanswered as Detective Lestrade and the doctor gawked at the two. “Victim’s name?” Sherlock looked at Greg expectantly. 

“Uh…yeah. Right, yeah. Sorry!” He snapped out of the trance while his fingers swept through file after file to find the correct one. Under normal circumstances he would be able to remember the victim’s name, however these were certainly not normal circumstances. “Aha!” Greg picked up the file and glanced inside to refresh his memory. Once he fetched the name from inside he relayed it back to Sherlock. “Elizabeth Hardy.”

Sherlock’s entire body jolted. A spasm ripped through his body. The roar that rumbled up his diaphragm and attempted to exit through his mouth come out instead in the form of one very raspy sounding word. “File?”

Greg looked surprised. His eyebrows met in the middle as he said, “Sherlock, you know I can’t give it to you. I’ve only ever told you an oral version of the case file. You know that.” Greg’s concern for Sherlock’s state was obvious. 

“File.” It wasn’t a question. Sherlock held out his shaky hand.

“Sherlock?” It was John now. He hadn’t missed his friend’s movements and knew something was clearly wrong.

“Hand me the bloody file!” Sherlock’s voice broke as his baritone voice filled the air. With the file in his hand he riffled through the papers and pictures. His fingers lingered for only a second on a picture of the deceased woman. “How close were you?” Sherlock knew the answer but didn’t want to. He was hoping, no praying that his mind had failed him, just this once.

The boy also knew the answer, though he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Instead he stared down at the shoes of the Great Detective. The boy imagined Sherlock’s sea green eyes foaming because of the crashing waves caused by the storm within. Finally the word found their way to air. Out of his mouth they went, staying only for a second on his lips. “I’m her son.”

“How old?” Sherlock already knew. He didn’t need to ask nor do the mental math. He did it anyway, over and over. If the boy said 16…oh, if the boy said 16. 

“I’m 16 years old.” The boy knew what Sherlock was doing. He knew what he would be doing in his head. He’d be counting and recounting. What he did not expect, and maybe he should have, was to see The Great Sherlock Holmes turning on his heels and walking out of the door. He left with the file, and without another word. 

This of course had all happened too quickly for the slow brains of John Watson and Greg Lestrade, who were left in the dust without a clue as to what had just occurred. John gave the curly haired boy one glance and seeing that he was looking intensely at the door Sherlock and just stormed out of, turned to Lestrade for help. “What in God’s name just happened?”

Lestrade simply shrugged and fought to find the right words.  
The next sentence came very unexpectedly from the mirror of the man who just left. “I’d imagine that if he’s anything like me, he’ll be spending the next few hours in his flat, surrounded by silence.”

This sentence seemed so odd to John. He could only ask the question he had to help elaborate on the only part of the boy’s statement he listened to. “Why would he be anything like you?”

Simultaneously Greg asked a question on the only bit of the boy’s explanation he heard. “Why would he surround himself in silence?”

For whatever reason, the boy decided to answer the Detective’s question instead of John’s.

“Because Sherlock Holmes just figured out he has a son.”


End file.
